Sherlock and Molly Play Games
by EtherDoc
Summary: A romance story centered around a weekly game night with Lestrade, Molly, John, and Sherlock. It was only fun when he was winning, unless it was Molly winning. Then it was interesting.
1. Settlers of Catan

The sofa and chairs were pushed against the walls and a card table was set up in the center of the sitting room. Four people sat on four different chairs all borrowed from Mrs. Hudson in flat 221b. Molly was giggling into her elbow.

"Oi! I am not trading with you Sherlock. This is the fifth game we've played. I think it's someone elses turn to win," Lestrade said.

Molly smiled nervously from behind her cards, eyes darting between Sherlock and Lestrade.

"It's not my fault that this game is ridiculously predictable. You insisted on using the beginners map setup for every game. I used a fairly simple strategy of starting with one harbor and building settlements quickly," Sherlock replied.

"That's what I did. And I didn't win," John replied.

"That's because you concentrated on trading when you should be upgrading your settlements."

"I think he's cheating," Lestrade muttered.

Molly ducked her head as her cheeks turned the color of fire. Beneath the table her small hand crept to Sherlock's leg. His deft fingers quickly took the card she proferred.

"No he's not. He's just a bloody genius," John grumbled.

"Another game?" Sherlock asked, leaning on his elbows and putting his hands under his chin.

"This game isn't over yet. Idiot," John replied affectionately.

"It is now," Sherlock said "No need to count, Lestrade. I have the most points."

"Bloody hell!" Lestrade threw his cards onto the table.

"Guess I'm in last place again," Molly said.

John glanced over at her. Molly looked extremely pleased for someone who'd just lost five consecutive games. Her bright eyes kept glancing over at Sherlock, who was completely ignoring her. Back and forth John's eyes shifted. He wouldn't. He didn't need to. Sherlock would never press Molly into a compromising position simply to win a game.

Would he?

Sherlock smirked as he shuffled the cards.

Oh, he would alright.

They each rolled the dice to determine who would go first. John's hand tensed at his side, waiting for an opportune moment. It was Lestrade's turn and normally they would all be focused on him. John didn't watch Sherlock. Sherlock was too good an actor to give himself away. Molly was not. She glanced nervously around her, took one of her cards, and slipped it under the table. John's hand shot out so fast Molly gave a yelp. He held up the offending wrist and the card spun to the floor.

Lestrade's mouth dropped open.

"You bastard!" he said.

Sherlock shrugged.

"It's as good a tactic as any," he replied.

"You bloody bloody bastard!"

"There goes game night then," John said.

"I don't think so. We'll find a game we can play where he can't cheat. Same time next Tuesday, yeah? We'll do it at my flat," Lestrade said.

Molly didn't speak as she left. She ducked her head and hurried away like someone was following her.


	2. Mario Cart Wii

Four faces were aglow from the light of the television screen. Lestrade bent over to insert a disk into the console.

"Sorry about the mess. The wife's gone to stay with her sister for awhile."

"P.E. teacher," Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, alright. Well she's not here so the place is..."

"Fine, it's all fine," John interjected, glaring over at Sherlock.

"This is a game?" Sherlock asked.

"You're joking, right?" Lestrade said. "It's a video game. Don't tell me you've never played a video game!"

John pushed the wheel and Wii remote into Sherlock's hands.

"It's easy. As easy as driving. You'll do fine," John assured him.

Five minutes later Lestrade was laughing so hard he was crying. Even Molly giggled as Sherlock became more and more flustered.

"Don't shake the wheel there, you'll keep falling off the edge. There he goes again!" Lestrade held his sides, fighting the mirth trying to escape him. "My ribs hurt I'm laughing so hard."

"Confound this thing! This is nothing like driving John. It's a game specifically designed to infuriate anyone playing it."

"Let's play something else. Before Sherlock throws the remote at the telly," John suggested.

"There's more?" Sherlock asked, appalled.

"There's a sports game. Table tennis, ten pin bowling, that sort of thing," John said.

"I love bowling!" Molly said, then immediately covered her mouth like she'd spit out something offensive.

"No how, Molls. You aided and abetted a known consulting detective," John said.

"Actually I'd love to see Sherlock try and bowl," Lestrade said. He sat on the sofa next to Molly, one arm casually draped on her shoulder. Molly glanced at Lestrade and gave him a weak smile.

"I'll go first. So you can see how it's done," John said.

Five minutes later no one was laughing. Sherlock's first roll had been a gutter ball and John had expected another outburst. Instead those shrewd eyes catalouged every motion John made as he got strike after strike. Sherlock hadn't missed a pin since.

Sherlock threw his virtual ball and ten pins neatly folded down again.

"Right, done with this then," Lestrade said, grabbing the remote and nunchuck from Sherlock's hand. "Let's get pissed instead."

"I have to work tomorrow," Molly said. She stood up and Lestrade removed his arm from the back of the sofa and sighed.

"Next week?" he asked.

"At my flat," Molly volunteered.

"Text me the address," Lestrade said as he walked her to the door.

Molly nodded and hurried out. Sherlock watched her until she disappeared from view.

"We have to get going too. Thanks Greg. See you next week."


	3. Scotland Yard

Sherlock and John paused outside Molly's door. John had grabbed the cuff of Sherlock's shirt and was glaring up at him.

"I want you to be nice to Molly tonight. This is her home and we're guests. No talking her into cheating for you again," John said.

"It wasn't my idea. It was hers," Sherlock replied. John looked stunned and then the door opened and he gave Molly a wide smile. They followed her to the kitchen where she'd already opened several bottles of wine. She motioned at John for him to follow her.

"Molly that's brill!" John laughed as she pulled the board game out of a closet.

"I used to love this game when I was little. I haven't played in ages and ages," Molly said as she opened the box.

The door bell rang and Lestrade joined them in the hallway. Sherlock remained in the kitchen, sniffing each bottle of wine like a connoisseur. John wondered if he knew something about wine or if he was testing for poison.

"Scotland Yard," Lestrade read off the box. "Ironic. I haven't played this one," Lestrade said.

"I have," said Sherlock quietly.

"There goes another game night!" Lestrade threw up his hands.

"You and Mycroft play?" John asked.

"The whole family. We had a compulsary game night once a week. Mummy said it strengthened family ties."

"Did it?" John asked.

Sherlock gave a noncommital shrug.

"I'll let you be the judge," he said with a tight smile.

"Let's play already!" Lestrade said.

They opened the board and placed their pieces. Molly was given the role of Mr. X and the boys were given their fare tickets.

"How does this work?" asked Lestrade.

"These are your pawns. Molly's movements are hidden from our view except at given times. We are each a detective searching to find the space she occupies. The pawns travel via taxi, bus, or the underground. See here? You have a limited number of tickets and Molly has to stay hidden until they are used."

Sherlock played but he played without enthusiam. He seemed less interested in victory than he had the weeks before. Molly managed to evade capture but John suspected Sherlock had intentionally let her win. Her pleasure was written in the dimples of her cheeks.

"Good night," Molly said as she held the door open for her guests.

"I'll be just a minute John," Sherlock said.

John nodded and headed down the stairs to the ground floor.

"Thank you. For... you know, letting me win," Molly said breathlessly.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

"It was a pleasure," he replied. She rubbed at her cheek and stood at the open door long after her guests had departed.


	4. Minecraft

John adjusted his headset until the ear piece sat comfortably in his ear. The computer screen was full of blocky structures and animals that might or might not be cows. Sherlock's avitar was stuck in a ditch nearby and John could swear looking sulky.

"Really? We talked about this. We practiced this part. Surely you can't be serious?"

"Don't call him Sherly," Lestrade said from the other side of London.

Molly's quiet giggle came through the earpiece to John.

"Is everyone ready? Everyone except Sherlock?"

John guided Sherlock out of the ditch and back to the farm where Molly and Greg were waiting.

"We could have used the chat function instead of headsets," Lestrade said.

"This is more fun," John countered.

"Where should we go?" Molly asked.

"There's an Enderdragon that needs defeating. I've got supplies – armor, weapons, potions. We should be good to go," John said.

"Why can't we just play in creative mode?" Sherlock said.

"Shut up Sherly. This is John's game night. What now?" Lestrade asked.

John held his hand over his mouth so he wasn't laughing into his mic. The situation was so ridiculous. Lestrade kept asking how he'd managed to convince Sherlock to join them at game night. He hadn't convinced him at all. He had blackmailed him.

"I haven't gone to the Nether yet. We need Blaze Powder and Enderpearls," John said. "Just follow me and stay close – it's almost night. Sherlock where are you now? No no no – you can't stop every few feet to examine things. Do that on your own time. Right, all together."

John worked on creating the portal to the Nether while his friends stood guard round him. Everything should have gone smoothly. They all knew their roles and they'd practiced in creative mode. But nothing was ever certain when it came to a consulting detective.

"What the fuck Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed. His avatar was slowly dying as each tick went by. Sherlock had thrown poison potion at everyone.

"It's for an experiment!" Sherlock said, as if that made it okay.

"Of course it is," said John as his character respawned, all of his items missing.

"Oh I'm picking up everything you dropped. Be right there," said Molly.

"Should we continue John?" asked Lestrade.

"No we can't. Seems I'm missing my diamond pickax."

"I think it fell in the ravine," Molly said.

"Great. Just great. I think I'm calling it a day."

"Good night John!" Molly called. They each lay their characters down in a bed, except for Sherlock, who'd managed to fall into hot lava. John sighed and removed his earpiece. He looked towards Sherlock's closed bedroom door and sighed.

"Maybe blackmailing him into playing games was a bad idea," John muttered under his breath.

"Blackmailing me was a terrible idea John!" Sherlock shouted behind his closed door. That man was bloody psychic sometimes.


	5. Cards against Humanity

John was reading the newspaper from the comfort of his chair when Sherlock came out of the bathroom wearing a thin white towel. John thanked the heavens he hadn't walked out naked again. Sherlock had no concept of modesty. He disappeared into his room and came out wearing his only pair of jeans and a white button up shirt.

"You don't have to," John started.

"I know I don't," Sherlock interrupted.

"Then why are you? Still playing that is," John asked.

Sherlock fussed with his hair in the mirror above the fireplace. He spun around in a slow circle, trying to catch a glimpse of himself at every angle.

"You look fine. Let's go! She wouldn't care if you showed up looking like a drug addict," John said.

"Don't be boring John. Molly is clearly interested in Graham."

"Yeah? Then why are you primping?"

"I'm not primping!"

"And it's Greg," John said.

"Who?"

"Greg. Greg Lestrade. That's his name. You have a map of London permanently etched into your brain but you can't remember the man's name. Why is that?"

John tugged at Sherlock's collar, dragging him towards the door. They piled into a cab, Sherlock holding his overcoat in his lap and John holding that evening's game on his own, headed towards Lestrade's house.

"Cards against Humanity," Sherlock read.

John smirked and held the box closer to him.

"You'll find out soon enough," John replied to the unasked question.

The cab drove them out to a small house in Soho. The lights were on, bathing the steps in a yellow light. John rang the bell and stood back to wait for Lestrade to answer. Sherlock leaned out of the doorway and attempted to look through an open window. John pulled him back just as the door opened.

"Come on in! Molly's already here."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes then swept past Lestrade and into the sitting room. Molly was reclining against the sofa with a glass of red wine. It had turned her cheeks pink like a pale rose. Her hair was down and fell in rivulets around her face. Sherlock sat down silently besides her.

"Did John tell you what we're playing?" she asked with a giggle.

"He didn't have to," Sherlock replied.

Molly found this extremely amusing and laughed into her glass as she took another sip.

"You don't have a clue, do you?" she teased.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"No but I'll put in the effort," he replied.

They joined together around a small kitchen table and John put the box down. Inside were black cards and several pencils.

"Let's play a round so Sherlock gets the idea, yeah?" John said.

He nodded towards Molly and the blush in her cheeks deepened and spread across her face. She took a card and read aloud.

"Why am I sticky?" she asked and her eyes flew to Sherlock, then back to her wine.

Sherlock grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil.

"I thought you hadn't played before," John accused.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out how the game is played," Sherlock replied.

"Doesn't hurt either," Lestrade muttered into his beer bottle. He went to set it down and his elbow jostled Molly's. She sloshed wine over her cup and onto her pants.

"Christ sorry Molls," Lestrade said. "Here, I'll find you something else to wear."

"Stop glaring at Greg," John leaned over and whispered to Sherlock.

Molly came back in blue dress that was almost too small on her and very much too short. Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction then returned to his piece of paper. He threw it in with the rest of the pile and Molly took them into her hands.

"Why am I sticky? Sherlock is doing an experiment. Very funny John."

"Hey you don't know it was me. And it's a very plausible explanation," John said.

"Why am I sticky? Sunscreen and honey make a bad combination. I wouldn't know! Why am I sticky? You are covered in an adhesive agent after a failed attempt..."

Molly paused to turn the paper over then continued reading, "failed attempt to create a replacement for formaldehyde."

"Wow," Lestrade said.

"It's a reasonable assumption," Sherlock shrugged.

"Uh, I pick Greg's," Molly said, holding up his paper.

"Are you supposed to know it's his?" Sherlock asked.

"It isn't supposed to be a secret. Everyone's handwriting is different. Yours is terrible by the way," she said.

"Point to Greg," John said, pulling the next card. "Hashtag fill in the blank, problems."

"Oh like #first world problems!" Molly said, bouncing up and down in her chair in excitement. Her wine glass was empty and was quickly refilled by Lestrade. The room was suddenly quiet as they all turned to their pencil and paper.

"Here we are then," John said. "Hashtag drug problems. Huh, could be Greg or Sherlock."

"Oi!" Greg protested.

"And hashtag love problems. Hmn. Finally hashtag money problems. You're all terrible at this game. I pick love problems because that's all I seem to have since I started a flat-share."

Sherlock leaned over to take the point and Lestrade's jaw dropped.

"I thought drug problem was yours," Lestrade said.

"Don't be obvious," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Wait, this doesn't even look like your handwriting," John said, holding up the piece of paper.

"Why would I keep it the same. Easier to copy Lestrade's."

"Which was your card Molly?" John asked.

"Drug problems. There was a cadaver - drug overdose as cause of death. First thing that popped into my head really."

"Money problems Greg?" John snickered. "I don't know if that's supposed to mean you're having money problems or I am."

"Please John. He knows about your gambling addiction," Sherlock said.

"It's not an addiction! Christ."

Sherlock reached over to draw the next card. His eyes flicked to Molly then he read the card like it was the most tedious unwanted task in the universe. "Oh my god, where is my blank."

John burried his head in his hands then rubbed at his eyes.

"I need another pint," he muttered.

There was a moment of silence broken only by the scratching of pencils.

"I won't bother to shuffle since each response will be quite obvious," Sherlock drawled. "Where is my appendix. Where is my..."

Sherlock cleared his throat and John looked curiously over his shoulder.

"You have to read it Sherlock. It's part of the game," he said with a wicked smile.

"Where is my vibrator. Where is my sex drive. How droll."

"You could pick mine," Molly volunteered.

"Well the sex drives of everyone at this table are within normal societal expectations. In addition we all have our appendices in tact. So that leaves this one."

Sherlock dropped the paper with the word "vibrator" written in large capital letters.

"Goody!" Molly squealed. Her hand reached out to take the card at the same time Sherlock moved to give it to her. Their fingers brushed together and Molly bit down on her lip, dropping her eyes to the ground. Sherlock let his fingers linger a moment, sliding them carefully down her hand before releasing his hold on the card. John cleared his throat and Molly practically threw the next card onto the table.

"When paper money becomes a thing of the past then 'blank' will be our currency," she read.

This round went by faster. The boys threw their papers face up and Sherlock's handwriting was back to a messy scrawl.

"Onions? God I hope not. They make me cry when I cut them. I almost lost the tip of my pinky finger once."

"Sorry couldn't think of anything unoffensive," John said.

"Intelligence," Molly laughed, her head thrown back to expose her pale throat again the blue of the dress. Greg cleared his throat and glanced away. Molly wiped at her eyes and turned her head to Sherlock. He held her gaze in his.

"That's yours," she said softly.

Sherlock leaned over so only she could hear him.

"Good thing we both have an ample supply," he whispered. Molly could only nod.

"And finally our new currency will be irrelevant since the human race won't last that long. That's a long answer."

"It was a philosophical question. It deserved respect! Besides you don't the human race as well as I do," Greg said adamantly.

At that moment Lestrade's cell went off. He walked away as he answered it. When he came back he was holding his jacket and keys.

"You're all welcome to stay. I've got to bugger off."

"Anything we're needed for?" John asked hopefully. Greg snickered. John was an addict alright and it had nothing to do with his passion at the race track.

"Nah. Wouldn't even be a 3. Goodnight. Sorry Molls!" he called as he shut the door behind him.

"Well I'm calling a cab. Coming Sherlock?" John asked.

"I think I'll stay. Have a glass of wine."

"You don't drink."

"But I do plan to stay. Good night, Dr. Watson."

John found himself out of the doorstep where he was only an hour before. He slipped into his jacket and went to hail a cab.

Notes: I started this as a one shot and it was titled "Sherlock and John Play Games". It turned out not to make much sense when the characters started acting of their own accord. So I changed the name and added this chapter.


	6. House of Cards

Sherlock closed the door firmly behind John. His hand rested a moment on the knob before he turned around. With both hands in his jacket pockets he moved over to the kitchen table. Molly grasped one of the chair backs with both hands.

"It's fortuitous Lestrade's wife left behind some of her clothing. This shade of blue compliments your skin tone," he said softly.

"Better than yellow right? I don't know what I was thinking at the wedding. Tom said he liked it," Molly pattered nervously.

"Molly, would you like to-"

"Solve cases with you? I thought we'd settled all that," she said.

She sat down at the table and sorted through the discarded cards.

"Have dinner with me?" Sherlock finished.

Molly's hands paused and she didn't look up as she spoke.

"For a case?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Mary and John need doubles partners?" she laughed.

"No, Mary and John aren't speaking. That's hardly the point. Molly Hooper, would you like to have dinner. With me. Somewhere nice."

Molly bit her lip as she shoved the game box into Sherlock's hands.

"No," she replied.

Sherlock blinked rapidly and opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it again.

"I used to think how lovely it would be to get noticed by you. And then it was. I was your friend. But you made me keep this big secret when you wouldn't even tell John. It was a burden Sherlock. And then you came back like I knew you would and it was the same old games. You flirted with me when you wanted something and like an idiot I fell for it."

"Why did you break off your engagement? I know he didn't leave you. You left him." Sherlock said.

"That's none of your business. We're friends now. Nothing more. Good night."

Molly picked up her coat. It did little to cover the long legs that grew out of her dress like a stem on a flower.

"Good night Molly Hooper," he said. He looked around the empty room and realized it seemed darker without her gentle warmth to fill it. He shut the door behind him when he left, walking most of the long way back to Baker Street in thought.


	7. Interlude

The cab hurried through the empty streets of London. After a good hour of walking he'd broken down to hail one. He couldn't hope to get back to Baker Street on foot. There was nothing to analyze, nothing to think about. So his mind turned to Molly Hooper. The woman who seemed meek on the surface but had an inner strength that made her shine. John had that same strength, the self-confidence of someone at peace with their choices and life. Molly's manifested itself differently. Where John was bold she was timid. She only spoke up for herself when her core was threatened. Things slipped right off her outer shell and when you pushed deeper she pushed back unflinchingly.

He'd first noticed her on Christmas, the Christmas Irene had left her phone. They were such polar opposites of one another. And yet for all her strengths the Woman didn't have the one thing Molly would never lose. Innocence. There was a sweetness to Molly that Irene just couldn't match. And while he and Irene had been moving through their little dance, a dance that could move nations (or at least the Crown), Molly had dressed to the nines to surprise him on Christmas. That had ended rather poorly.

He'd never been the center of someone's attraction before. His mannerisms threw people off before they could even think about him that way. He'd never stopped to consider Molly's affections because he hadn't realized they were there. Of course he'd flirted with her in the morgue. He flirted with anyone he needed something from. Even John – although John would never admit it.

The cab pulled outside 221b and Sherlock handed the cabbie the fare.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You have a good night," he said.

"You too Harris," Sherlock replied.

Adding cabbies to his homeless network had been a good move. John had taken to calling the group the "Baker Street Irregulars" since no one person seemed to appear twice at their door. Of course that was because Sherlock usually went to meet them. Having his network on Baker Street would bring attention to the very thing he needed to keep secret.

Mrs. Hudson had already turned in so he closed the door as quietly as he could and crept up the stairs. John was waiting by a low fire.

"She turned you down did she?" he said.

Sherlock didn't bother to answer. He put the game box down next to his cell cultures on the kitchen table and unwrapped his scarf from his neck.

"Don't be so glum. After all, wasn't my idea to blackmail you," John said.

"What are you babbling about?"

"Blackmailing you to put that video of you singing in the shower up on youtube. That was Molly's idea," John said.

Sherlock sat down in his chair, stunned.

"You're a detective! How could you not have known? I told her about it last time we were at the morgue. She said it would be a great way to get you to game night."

"I don't understand," Sherlock replied.

"You'll figure it out. I'm going to bed."

Sherlock picked up his violin.

"No playing! I've got clinic in… five hours. I need some sleep. Go to bed!"

John hurried up the stairs to his room. At some point Sherlock fell asleep on the couch, violin tucked to his chest like a child.


	8. Cancelled

John's cell phone vibrated across his desk. He reached across the mountain of paperwork he was attempting to get through and picked it up. He'd missed some parts of the conversation but the context was clear.

So game night tonight? -Greg

I'm swamped. Going to be a late one for me. –JW

No –SH

Let's try for next week. –Molls

I'll host. –SH

You will? –JW

What are we playing? – Molls

Poker –SH

Ah shit –Greg

John forced down his excitement. Now was not the time to get involved in what probably was going to be a very long conversation. They wouldn't be playing for money and if he mentioned money Sherlock would go on and on about his gambling "problems". He paused before he shut down his phone, reading the last few lines of text.

DON'T COME DOWN HERE. It's a murder-suicide and there's lots of press. -Greg

I have other things to do. –SH

Bye Molls -Greg

You play poker? –Molls

I'm learning. It's a combination of probability and acting. I excel at both. –SH

So you haven't played before –Molls

If I haven't played it doesn't mean I don't know how. –SH

John felt his ears warming. This was not a conversation he should be eavesdropping on. It was a group text, he justified to himself. Group texts are public. They were just flirting. It was no big deal. He sat down in his chair and waited.

You'll have to prove it next week. – Molls

Or I could show you before then. Entirely your choice. I would never want to impose. –SH

John felt his jaw drop. This was a side of Sherlock he'd never seen before, and he'd seen a lot. Not only that, Sherlock was putting the ball back into Molly's court. She had rejected him. If she wanted to play she needed to make a move. She had drawn a line and for once Sherlock was respecting that.

I'll think about it. –Molls

I look forward to your answer. –SH

Bye –Molls

You can stop reading now John. – SH

John gave a little cough. He had backed himself into a corner on this one. His face felt hot with embarrassment. He should just move back in with Mary. Sure she was a psychopath but she was also pregnant with his child. And at least she was done throwing him for a loop. With Sherlock it never ended.


	9. Poker Night

The sitting room at 221b had once again been cleared of all furniture except the small folding table. John had carried it up all seventeen stairs because Sherlock was busy with a _very important experiment, John_. That was doubtful considering it involved shuffling cards and dealing them out.

"Show off," John muttered as he moved the chairs to the card table.

Mrs. Hudson came in with a tray of biscuits. John waited for Sherlock to take them but he continued to deal cards with a graceful turn of his fingers. John sighed and set the tray in the kitchen.

The doorbell downstairs rang and Mrs. Hudson hurried to answer. Sherlock looked up a moment then frowned and went back to his cards. A moment later Lestrade came into the room. Sherlock ignored the usual pleasantries until the doorbell rang again. Then he was tucking the cards into his pocket and waiting with his hands behind his back.

"Hello everyone," Molly smiled at the room.

"Nice to see you Molly," Lestrade offered.

"You just saw her last week," Sherlock said.

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. It was the look that meant _bit not good._

"And now you're seeing her again. Lovely," Sherlock continued.

Then there was small talk and drinks and stories from Uni until Sherlock thought he might die from the sheer tedium of it all. Molly was conversing mostly with... Gavin, and Sherlock was left drinking a cup of lukewarm tea in one corner.

"Stop sulking," John whispered to him.

"It would be useful if we were to start the game soon," Sherlock muttered in return.

"What do you say we get started?" John asked, raising his voice to be heard from across the room.

They all gathered around the card table. Sherlock was the last to get seated. He shuffled the already shuffled cards and moved the deck to Molly.

"Ladies choice," he said. Molly cut the deck and she smiled at him from her eyes. Sherlock smiled back carefully.

"Texas Hold 'Em. Here's your chance to impress me," she said cheekily.

"I think we all know I excell at that," Sherlock replied.

"You're awfully cocky. As usual. Can we please play?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock discarded the top two cards then dealt out two more to each of of them. Molly's eyes were twinkling as she studied her cards. Sherlock raised one eyebrow. Lestrade and John were looking at their cards.

"A pair," he mouthed silently.

"Maybe," she mouthed back.

Sherlock dealt three community cards. A pair and a high card.

"I fold," Lestrade said, throwing his cards on the table. John let his chips rise and fall with his fingers, and they jingled together like little bells.

"Your bet, John," Sherlock said. He knew John was holding out for a flush. He put in two chips.

Sherlock and Molly met the bet and a fourth card was put in the center of the table.

"Oh goodies!" Molly grinned.

John groaned and left his cards on the table. "Fold."

The next card came out and Sherlock's hand was not improved. He glanced over at Molly where she sat holding her cards like a fan. Her confidence was not a facade. That didn't mean she wasn't bluffing. He planned on folding and then reconsidered. Molly would love to beat the one and only consulting detective. Sherlock placed four chips in the pot. They bet back and forth until Lestrade snapped at them to show their cards already.

Molly laid down four of a kind. Sherlock turned over two pair. She laughed softly as she pulled the pot in. The next round Lestrade folded again. John was a decent card player but had too many tells. Sherlock could always sumise when he was bluffing and John grew more frustrated as they played. Molly only grew more chipper, clearly enjoying herself. They played hand after hand, chips moving from one pile to the next. The pot grew boldly larger.

"You're bluffing," Sherlock said quietly across the table.

"So are you," she returned.

Molly giggled as she folded her cards. Sherlock did the same and gave the hand to Lestrade.

"Finally!" Lestrade muttered.

"Why don't you two play and we'll watch," John said. "It's your game anyway."

Lestrade sighed and went to get another beer. John joined him.

"I'm winning," Molly said stacking her chips into neat little piles.

"Not by much. If you'd like to go all in, we can see what happens next," Sherlock suggested.

Molly took a long sip of wine, her eyes never leaving her cards. John and Lestrade were talking quietly in the kitchen, their low voices a white noise in the sudden quietness between them.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked.

"No," he answered truthfully.

"Then by all mean, let's go all in."

Molly turned over a flush. Sherlock slowly revealed the same but with an ace high. Neither of them moved towards the big pot of chips between them. Sherlock held her soft brown eyes with his piercing blue ones. John watched them both from the stool where he sat drinking the last of his beer.

"What now?" he asked softly.

"Well you did win. You can trade in your poker chips for a date. Or a kiss. Your choice."

Sherlock sat back in his chair.

"Do I need to decide now?"

"No."

"I'll call you this week," he said finally.

"You do that," Molly replied.

John came over to insist they leave for Baker Street.

"We have a case, remember?" John said, practically pushing him out the door.

"Ah yes, the string of piano thefts. I don't need to sleep before morning."

"Well I do. It's nearly midnight. Let's go Romeo."

Sherlock reluctantly left Molly behind with Lestrade. They both waited for a cab with their hands stuffed down their pockets and their breaths blowing small white clouds into the cold London air. Sherlock was bouncing on his toes and John didn't think it was from the cold.

"What?"

"John should I have kissed her?"

"Yes."

The cab pulled up to the curb and John went around to the other side. The ride back to 221b was quiet. Sherlock was crouched up into his corner and frowning out the window.

"Maybe next time," John suggested.

Sherlock went through the door and into his room without another word. John kicked off his shoes and headed upstairs. Sherlock and Molly's blossoming love affair made him miss Mary all the more. John sighed and spread out on his bed. Sleep was a long time coming.


	10. Coffee or Me

"Hello? Everything okay?" Molly asked as she pushed a cadaver into cold storage. She balanced her phone with one shoulder as she talked and wrote things down on a clipboard with her free hands.

"Quite. I was calling to… say hello," her caller said awkwardly.

Molly knew she was grinning and tried to stop. It wasn't very nice when he was trying so hard. She kept on smiling.

"Mmm," she said, being completely unhelpful.

There was a long silence which she used to put her surgical tools into the UVC for sterilization. She sipped at her lukewarm coffee and sat back against the countertop.

"So how are things?" Sherlock finally asked.

She could almost picture him wincing as he got out each word. Molly found she quite liked this side of him. It was uncertain and vulnerable and it was just for her.

"It's a slow day at work. It's nice that you called," she gave him.

"It's a tedious day for me as well. There's no work. I've nothing to do," he complained.

"John says when you're bored you shoot holes in walls. Is that true?" she asked curiously.

"That only happened once. Mrs. Hudson patched up the holes when I was gone," he sulked.

Molly's sudden happiness slipped. It was difficult to be reminded of such a dark time. She didn't know how John had coped. Or forgiven.

Sherlock was not a conversationalist, but he was as intelligent as he claimed to be. He knew by her silence, maybe by the change in her breathing, that he'd said the wrong thing. She could almost hear the gears in that amazing mind crank up.

"You were an invaluable help to me, Molly Hooper. I imposed on your flat and your life. I don't know if I've ever said thank you."

"No you haven't," she replied.

"Thank you," he said softly. She knew it was sincere by the unsure tone in his voice.

"You're welcome," she said simply.

Sherlock cleared his throat and she thought he might hang up.

"I believe I owe you coffee," he said instead.

"You do?"

"You asked me out for coffee once," he said.

"Yes…" she answered cautiously.

"And then you brought me coffee. I'd like to do that same."

"Sherlock, are you asking me out or asking me if I'd like a cup of coffee?"

"Both," he said.

Molly set down her clipboard again and hopped up onto the counter. She crossed her legs and considered.

"Me bringing you coffee didn't count as a date. Wait... You're right outside my door, aren't you?" she said.

"But with coffee," he said hopefully.

Molly ended the call with a swipe of her finger, giggling into her sleeve. It was all so ridiculous. Then why did she feel like a teenager again? Young and a little stupid and very much in... no,no,no. She wasn't going there. It was way too soon to even be thinking things like that.

Sherlock was waiting with two cups in hand. As soon as she took the first sip she knew it wasn't from the cafeteria or some chain coffee shop. There was no cream or sugar and it had a flavor profile that could shame a glass of wine.

"This is really good," she said with a happy sigh.

"I know you're busy," Sherlock said. Molly hummed but it was more a comment on the coffee and tension leaving her neck.

"I can spare ten minutes. This was very thoughtful. Thank you," she said.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the metal doors of the cold storage unit and some of her pleasure evaporated. Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, her makeup had mostly rubbed off, and her labcoat was a wrinkled mess.

"You look fine," Sherlock said softly.

"How did you… am I that obvious?"

"You could never be obvious, Molly Hooper," he replied.

"I need to get back to work," she said, biting her lip.

"As you wish," Sherlock replied. He leaned in and used one hand to softly caress her cheek.

"You did say you owed me a kiss. Could I collect now?" he asked softly.

"And you brought me coffee. You can't have the best of both worlds," she replied, but she leaned in closer to him until her nose brushed his.

"This isn't a proper date," Sherlock returned, his lips a breath from hers.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Ambiance."

Only Sherlock would think the morgue was an appropriate place to give her a first kiss.

The brush of his lips was a light push against hers. He breathed against her soft plump mouth like he was taking in her scent. Only then did he push their mouths together, holding the back of her head gently with one hand. It was the most erotic thing Molly had even felt. He was being careful, so careful, and not because he was nervous or had some expectation. Instead he was waiting on her every response; her breath, her sighs, the flutter of her eyelids were for him road-maps to her desires. Dear god, if this was how he kissed then she couldn't imagine how he...

And then her thoughts completely stopped, falling down like a broken jigsaw puzzle. Sherlock's tongue slipped between his teeth and he was sucking and kissing her bottom lip. She could barely think, could barely stand. He had an arm around her waist now, holding her steady as he tore her apart. Her heart was racing in an unsteady rhythm until it almost hurt. The world was a blur and at it's center was raven black hair, lush curls, a chiseled mouth. All his attention was on her and she was drowning in it.

"Sherlock!" she gasped as he pulled away and nuzzled her neck. She held onto his shoulders as his tongue found her earlobe. He moved his mouth and sucked at it gently before finding her mouth again. She was completely undone. She surrendered immediately. She joined in his dance, kissing him back with all the hunger she'd ever felt for him. Now it was her hands in his hair, finally enjoying that softness beneath her fingertips. Emboldened, Molly pushed at his chest until his back was against the wall. She leaned completely into him, body against body. Sherlock threw back his head. Her fingers were at his buttons when she heard someone discreetly clearing their throat.

"I'll just wait outside then," John said and he marched right back out the way he'd come.

Molly took a few deep gasping breaths as the world righted itself. And then she got angry. Sherlock was still pressed against the wall, his cheeks flush and his lips swollen.

"You bastard!" she said. She realized she was crying. It didn't matter. She deserved her tears.

"Molly, I can explain," he said, holding up his hands like she was something dangerous. Well she felt dangerous. She was tired of his games.

"You don't have to, Sherlock. If John's here too that means one thing. You need something from me. This is low even for you."

Something bitter and foul rose up in her throat until her mouth couldn't remember the sweetness it had just held. She marched over to the man that always caused her so much pain and moved to slap him across the face. His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. They glared at one another, both breathing hard.

"I don't think so," he snarled, shoving her hand away. The doors closed behind him and Molly sunk to the floor, devastated. She didn't know how many minutes passed, her sobbing into her arms before the doors opened again.

"Hey, you okay?" John asked, leaning down to grasp her shoulder. "Look, I came to apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt. Sherlock was supposed to come with me, to find out the sex of the baby. He said he needed to bring you coffee first. He was gone awhile and... I'm really sorry. Are you two okay? He looked pretty angry."

Molly dried her tears on her labcoat and sighed.

"How did you do it John? How did you of all people forgive him after all the hurt he's caused you?" she asked.

"The manipulation and the lies were the hardest part for me. But in the end he's still family. He's like a brother to me. I'm still working on it with Mary but eventually I'll forgive her too. That's how family works. That's how it works when you love someone," John said gently.

Molly turned her head so she didn't have to meet his eyes.

"Tell Sherlock I'm sorry. I need to get back to work."

"It was a misunderstanding. And don't worry I'll tell him. He's not one to hold a grudge," John replied.

Molly ran her shaking hands under cold water until she couldn't feel them anymore. Then she put on her blue gloves and went back to her cadavers.


	11. Back in the Game

Molly remembered the first time Sherlock had seen her - instead of seeing through her. He'd looked up from his microscope, eyes darting quickly to John, then up to her face. She had noticed his sorrow when no one else had, and she'd given it a voice. There was a facade he gave to the entire world, but he was as human as any of them.

She had helped him when he asked and he'd used her flat as a bolt hole. He moved straight into her bedroom. That was okay with her. She fit more comfortably on the couch than he would and it was only for a few nights. Afterwords she had reluctantly washed the sheets. The thought of sleeping where he has slept, laying her head where his had been, it was tempting. But he was destined to travel far away and maybe not come back. She was already devastated by his need to leave. She didn't need to add that to her already aching heart.

So now each time her fingers paused, poised above the keyboard of her phone, she remembered that dark time. There were no words she could use that would express why she'd reacted so negatively in the morgue.

It was complicated.

She couldn't read his motives in the slant of his cheekbones or in how he styled his hair. She wasn't a genius - not like he was. When she looked at him he seemed so closed. She had no idea what he was thinking from one moment to the next. All she knew was he had kissed her. That certainly wasn't his first kiss. And here she thought he might be a virgin. She strongly doubted it now. What else might he be hiding?

Molly sighed and picked up her phone again. Her outbox was full of unsent texts. She deleted them all.

Her phone bleeped and immediately her heart was racing.

Forgive me. -SH

There's nothing to forgive. -Molls

I think we both know better than that. There's a reason you reacted so strongly. -SH

Molly bit at her lip, unsure what to say to that. He apparently knew why she was upset. She hadn't really thought about it. Of course he would know. This was Sherlock.

It felt like I was being used. Again. I thought you wanted something. -Molls

There's only one thing I want. -SH

Molly reminded herself to breathe. Her hands were shaking as she typed out a reply.

What's that? -Molls

Another chance. -SH

Molly felt absurdly pleased. There was warmth in her cheeks and her stomach was churning.

We've missed you the last few times at game night. Will I see you tomorrow? -Molls

I'll be there. Good night Molly. -SH


	12. Finca

Lestrade hadn't said anything but it was obvious his wife was in the process of moving out. The television was gone as were most of the dishes. John shot Sherlock warning glances whenever he opened his mouth to comment. They were waiting on Molly and had been for the last hour. Between Lestrade's clear self-pity and trying to prevent Sherlock from making a bad situation worse, it had been a long hour for John.

"It's my fault Molly's not here yet. I sent her some work," Lestrade said as he opened a beer for John. "She should have been here by now," Lestrade continued, looking at his watch.

"She went home to change. She'll be here shortly," Sherlock replied. Lestrade gave him a funny look as the doorbell rang.

"Sorry, got a bit behind," Molly apologized as she came in.

Lestrade's defeated expression turned into admiration as he took in her tousled hair and blue satin blouse. Sherlock offered her a small smile. He didn't have to compliment her. She would know that he'd noticed the color of her shirt, just as he knew she'd spent hours hunting for the right shade, the one he'd complimented her on before.

It was the first time he'd seen her since the morgue. It was exactly like John said it would be, forgotten. There was nothing in her body language that said her thoughts were lingering on their last encounter.

Had she also forgotten their kiss? He could still feel the way she'd melted into his arms, her body compliant and willing against his own. It had kept him awake every night until today - more than a case might have. And he doubted he'd get much sleep tonight either. He was used to this relentless energy when there was a puzzle to be solved. This was the first time he'd felt it for another human being. It was as if every cell in his body had turned on him, conducting an experiment he didn't understand. At the center of it all was Molly Hooper.

"You look lovely," Lestrade said.

Molly turned her head to Sherlock and smiled as if he'd voiced the same opinion. The way she shyly lowered her lashes when she spoke was absolutely endearing.

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

Lestrade guided Molly to the table with his hand in the small of her back. Sherlock opened his mouth to remark on the half-empty state of Lestrade's home and John stepped firmly on his foot.

"Don't you dare," he said under his breath.

"What are we playing tonight?" Molly asked.

"Well I went through my closet. I've got Isla Dorada – unopened, not sure I know how to play that one – and Cyclades and also Finca."

"Let's play Finca!" Molly said, clapping her hands together.

"Finca it is," Lestrade said.

"Have we all played? Well that's a nice change," John said, picking up his wooden pieces. Lestrade was already placing the cards on the board.

"Let's all move 'round the windmill. This game does begin somewhat tediously," Sherlock said as he moved his cart.

"Shut up and play. You're the one who wanted to come," John said good-naturedly.

"I can't wait to see who wins!" Molly said as she collected her fruit.

As the game progressed Molly got more and more quiet. John found himself glancing at Sherlock but he had his eyes on the game. Then Molly gave a little squeak.

"I um… excuse me. I need to use the ladies room," she gushed.

Five minutes later she came back and the game continued. Suddenly it was Sherlock who was silent. He was sucking on his lower lip and clearly having trouble concentrating.

"I need another lemon," Lestrade said, playing with his wooden fruit.

"Sherlock, it is your turn," John said, and went to nudge him with his foot. His eyes went wide as he realized it wasn't Sherlock's foot he was touching. Molly drew back her foot and gave a flirtatious smile to Sherlock, completely unfazed.

"Oh," John said to himself.

"I'll use my token to move," Sherlock said, throwing down the card.

He harvested his share of the fruit and John handed him a little wooden house.

"Put on finca on it," he said in a way that sounded crude.

Then Lestrade took the last orange and everyone complained while they put their fruit back. John was still somewhat distracted by the game going on under the table - as Sherlock and Molly played footsies.

"Just the oranges, John. No need to add bananas to the lot," Sherlock said, amused.

"That's the last tile, let's score points," Lestrade said as he took the last card and put a finca in its place.

"That won't be necessary. You've won," Sherlock replied, sounding completely bored.

"Disappointed?" Lestrade asked, sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

"Regarding a game of probabilities which therefore reflects nothing of intelligence? Yes, I'm heart broken."

"So you're saying it's all chance? Either of us could win?" Lestrade asked.

"You had a decent strategy as well. John would never win with his."

"Hey!" John said.

"I think you're wrong. I've played this game more times and with better results," Lestrade said quietly, glancing at Molly.

John stopped laughing as he realized what Lestrade was getting at. It dawned on Molly too and she looked in horror between Lestrade and Sherlock.

"I'm never wrong," Sherlock said with a smirk, looking pleased with himself.

"I think you will be," Lestrade answered hotly.

"The game is already over. I've won," said Sherlock.

"I strongly doubt that."

Neither man noticed the anger on Molly's face. She stood up quietly and got her purse. Only when the door clicked quietly behind her did they realize she had gone. Lestrade looked disappointed. John thought Sherlock looked stricken.

"You've really done it this time," John said.

Sherlock could only nod in agreement.


	13. Aftermath

Tuesday 5:00 pm

I'm sorry. -SH

Tuesday 11:15 pm

I sincerely apologize. -SH

Wednesday 8:00 am

You are in no way a woman to be objectified. I think of you more as a puzzle. -SH

Thursday 6:22 am

That may have come out wrong. -SH

Thursday 11:18 am

I can't make up for past wrongs but please let me try. -SH

Thursday 11:25 am

Leave me alone. It's what you're good at. -Molls


	14. A Plan

John came home from clinic to find Sherlock sprawled across the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Several nicotine patches were stuck on his left arm like leeches.

"Case?" John asked, putting down the takeaway on the (relatively) clean table.

"No."

"You haven't had a case in weeks."

"Lestrade hasn't called for me in weeks," Sherlock replied.

"I see," John replied. John cleared his throat and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

"What's this about the patches then?" John asked.

"Three patch problem. Molly Hooper isn't responding to my texts."

John rubbed a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

"Send her flowers," he suggested. "That's what I always do when a woman is mad at me."

"Dull."

"Chocolates? Women love chocolate."

"Don't be tedious John."

The kettle whistled and John went to make tea. He set Sherlock's down on the coffee table where it steamed up like smoke. Sherlock watched it until he grew bored and then turned to where John was sitting in his chair.

"Winning will require a complex plan," Sherlock said.

"So this is all a game to you? I don't think Molly would appreciate that," John said. He handed Sherlock the tikka masala and Sherlock took it without comment. An occasional thank you would be nice. John knew he shouldn't hold his breath. Sherlock sat up, peeling the patches away and dropping them to the floor. He picked up his tea cup and held it in his hands without drinking.

"Getting a bit weird now," John said five minutes later.

"It a complex problem," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his cooling tea.

"Anything in that mind palace about courting a woman?" John asked.

"Quite a bit surprisingly. Most of it is generic. Hold eye contact, make compliments, buy small gifts. I want something more...unique."

Sherlock didn't touch his chicken. They sat in silence and eventually John took their cups and saucers into the kitchen to put them in the sink.

"Dammit Sherlock! What did I tell you about experiments in the sink!"

Sherlock laid back down on the soda, fingers steepled together. His great brain buzzed with activity, all of his focus turned to Molly Hooper.


	15. Out of Time

Molly walked slowly through Regent's Park. It's fountains and bridges and gardens made it seem like a fairy land. She could get lost here and never feel lonely. It was her place of comfort. She tried not to think about the reason she felt the pull to visit the park. It still hurt too much. She was trying to distract herself but her thoughts kept turning to Sherlock. The single kiss they had shared had put flame in her soul. She knew exactly what would have happened if John had't interupted. It wasn't the dark and brooding image he projected that did it. It was the soft side of him that was reserved for her. When he looked at her, she knew she was being seen.

She paused to watch children feeding the waterfoul. Their happy hands threw bread and then clapped in delite. How innocent they were. Molly dropped a hand to her belly and sighed. There would be no children in her forseeable future. She had chosen a career path that didn't leave time for socializing and even less time for children. She walked the long route around the outer circle of the park. The leaves were just beginning to turn to their fall foliage and the ground was sprinkled with oranges and yellows. She breathed in the autumn air and let it out again with a sigh. There was life beyond Sherlock Holmes. Whatever she was feeling wouldn't last forever, no matter how much she wanted it to.

Her phone gave her a chirp and she reached into her purse without thinking.

Monday 8:00 am

Molly Hooper the only thing I want to win is your heart. -SH

Monday 8:01 am

I'm sorry for all the hurt I've caused you. -SH

Monday 8:03 am

You're the one person that matters most to me. You make it bearable. -SH

Monday 8:05 am

Make what bearable? -Molls

Monday 8:06 am

My life. -SH

Molly's fingers went numb and she almost lost her phone. This wasn't something that one friend would say to another. It was something lovers and poets would say, not Sherlock Holmes. It was such a departure from his character - it was almost as if someone else were writing the words. Maybe John was making her the butt of some cruel joke. That wouldn't be like him. Sherlock could be using her in some way. He was very good at that. She just couldn't see how.

She had stopped walking as she read the texts. A yellow cab pulled up to the curb and the door opened.

"Excuse me miss. Are you Molly Hooper? I'm Harris. Mr. Holmes asked me to pick you up."

Molly glanced down at her phone. She had to make a decision and she had to do it now. Could she forgive Sherlock for being a complete idiot or was she going to let him go? The back door was open and the cab was idling at the curb. She was running out of time. Harris wouldn't wait forever. Should she go all in one last time? What did she really have left to lose?


	16. A New Game

Harris chatted at her as he drove but she couldn't remember anything he might have said. Her inner thoughts were too noisy to be distracted by conversation. She felt an excited curiousity as to where they were going. She recognized the streets as they went by, but where were they heading? The world spun by under a dreary October sky. She watched the clouds moving, white against the blue of the sky.

"I said we're here, Miss," Harris repeated.

"Where?" she asked, looking around. Then she saw her favorite bookstore. It was a tiny place between rows of large shops, a secluded place she could escape to on her day off. She loved smell of the antiquated books, the feel of their leather binding against the softness of her palm. And the smell! It was musty and damp with age.

She opened the door to the cab then looked tentatively back at the driver.

"I'll be waiting for you, no worries," Harris assured her.

A tiny bell tinkled as she stepped inside. The proprietor was no where to be seen. She walked around the tall bookcases, wondering what she was doing here and why. There was a gentle smile on her face as her fingers swept across several volumes. She could stay here for hours. What was she looking for? Certainly not Sherlock. Maybe it was some kind of treasure hunt. That seemed like the sort of thing he might do. Another game for them to play together. Him planting clues so she could find them and eventually find him. She wished she knew what to look for.

"Miss Hooper!" Daniel called as he came out from the back. He washed his hands with a dry rag then leaned over the counter to shake her hand.

"Good morning. I'm glad you're here. I thought you didn't open until ten," Molly said.

"Normally I don't. Someone called in a special favor. It wasn't a big one. You know how much I love my books."

"Have any new ones in?" she asked.

"Funny you should ask. Someone ordered a book then never came to pick it up. Would you like to see it? I know it's around here somewhere. Ah! Here you are, young lady."

Molly stared down at the book.

"The Settlers of Catan, by Rebecca Gablé," she read softly. "I had no idea there was a book..."

"Came out pretty recently. Haven't read it myself. Would you like to keep it? Leave your money in your purse! On the house. It's a delight to have you as a regular customer. Anything else for you today? I know I'll be seeing you later then," he said.

Molly stood silently through the diatribe, unsure what to say. Seconds later she was practically thrown out the door. Daniel obviously knew more than he was letting on. Then it was back in the car where the driver patiently sat.

"Where to miss?" he asked.

"Don't you know?" asked Molly.

"Nope. I had instructions to drive you here and then wait for your orders," he said with a laugh.

Molly took the book and opened it's pages. Surely he couldn't expect her to read this in its entirety while the cab driver waited. The clue had to be simple. The cover was made of paper so there was nothing to hide there. Molly looked at the book from every angle then she turned it upside down and flipped her thumb over the pages. A small piece of paper fell out.


	17. Looking for Treasure

Molly picked up the paper from where it had fallen onto the seat. In Sherlock's characteristically messy scrawl was written:

_You deserve the finest of things_.

"What does that mean?" Molly asked herself. She turned the paper over and found an address printed on the back. She handed the paper to Harris and sat back in her seat. Sherlock had known her favorite haunt. She didn't remember telling him. How had he found out? She doubted he'd been following her the last few days. It's not that she couldn't picture him doing it. She just knew he wouldn't, not with her. The only person who could have known that was John.

They ended up in an old ten pin bowling alley that looked like it was born in the 70's. Molly ducked inside and quickly hurried past the seedy looking bar. She was here for something. What could it be?

"Help you miss?" a teenager asked from behind the counter.

"I think I'd like to bowl," she replied.

She paid for the 11th lane and gave him her shoe size.

"There's only one pair of shoes in that size. They don't look like bowling shoes," he said. He brought up a shiny pair of black pumps. Molly examined the underside of the shoes. They looked brand new.

A man in a beige uniform hurried over to where they were standing.

"Morning. Those shoes are for you, courtesy of Mr. Holmes," he said. "Give her back her bowling money Dawson. Go on. Sorry about that. He didn't know."

Molly thanked them both and took her new shoes with her back to the cab. So this was a treasure hunt! And it was progressing in the order of the games they'd played together over the last few months. Settlers of Catan, ten pin, Scotland Yard. That meant their next destination could only be one thing.

"New Scotland Yard, please."

The excitement was starting to build. He had picked the perfect way to apologize. As a young girl she had loved treasure hunts. In the summertime she and her brothers would spend hours looking for the thimbles, candy, and small toys their mother had hidden around the house. How could he have known? The only person she could remember having that conversation with was...oh, with Greg.

Lesetrade was waiting for them at the curb when they pulled up. He signaled for Molly to roll her window down.

"I'm sorry Molls. I want you to be happy. Sherlock, he's a great man. And you'll make him a good one. I can't tell you to forgive him but I hope you do," he said.

"It was you! You told Sherlock I like treasure hunts!"

"He asked. This was his idea mostly. I'm the mouthpiece. Here. It's from Sherlock not me."

He handed her a small blue glass bottle that obviously contained a perfume. Molly thought it smelled like jasmine in bloom. It was lovely.

"Thank you Greg," Molly said with a sweet smile.

"He's a lucky bloke," Lestrade said, then turned around with a wave and went back inside.

"I'm supposed to ask you who we should see next," Harris said.

Molly tried to remember the order they'd played their games in. She thought Minecraft was next, but how on Earth was she supposed to get a clue from that? Sherlock would know. He was a genius. The only person smarter was...

"Mycroft!" Molly laughed out loud. "Mycroft sounds an awful lot line Minecraft. Let's go see him. If I'm wrong then he'll be annoyed. Sherlock would love that."

"Sure thing," Harris replied.


	18. Cinderella

Mycroft was silent as they walked the empty halls of the Diogenes Club. He'd let her in without question, so be obviously had expected her. She just wished she knew why.

"So you're interested in my brother," he said.

"I would say he's interested in me," she returned.

"So it would seem. In here, my dear."

Mycroft led her into a small room with white walls and white carpets and white chairs. To say the room was ornate would be an understatement. It was grand, with its high vaulted ceiling and floor to ceiling windows. The drapes looked like long gowns against the walls. There wasn't a spot of dust anywhere.

"I'm to give you this," he said, proffering a card with two fingers.

"What is it?"

"A credit line with an upper limit that far exceeds your annual salary."

Molly dropped the card on the floor.

"But why?" she asked, bending to retrieve it.

"That's a very good question. I think it's one Sherlock should answer. Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Hooper," Mycroft said, leading her to the door.

When the cab finally stopped again it was after lunch and she was beyond hungry. She stopped for gyros at a little Greek restaurant she loved. She even talked Harris into joining her. Afterwards, full and content, they sat on a park bench overlooking a small pond.

"So you're the one driving Mr. Holmes batty," he said.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"I've known Mr. Holmes a long time. I'm his eyes and ears. I've never seen him so serious as when he explained to me what I needed to do. He was very specific, as if this was the most important thing he'd ever done."

"We had better finish what he started then. I'm ready to go."

The taxis came to a stop again, parked under the back-lit bold letters of Harvey Nichols. Molly shook from nervousness as she stepped out. She pulled at her baggy jumper and scrub pants and then she heard Sherlock's words to her once again. _You look fine. You worry too much. _

She marched through the two large doors with some amount of confidence and was greeted by a smiling concierge. She knew she wasn't Sherlock, but she was smart and she knew why she was there.

"I'm Molly Hooper. You should be expecting me," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hooper. I'm Denise. If you would please come with me?"

Molly was lead back to a private changing room full of delicate women's undergarments and a pile of blue dresses. Molly grinned as she picked up the first one. She remembered the night they played Cards against Humanity. She wished she'd taken him up on his offer. She'd had no idea how much he would go through to win her over. Her heart beat nervously against her chest at the thought of seeing him again.

"Well this is going to be fun. Can I take pictures?" she asked.

"You can take anything you'd like," Denise replied.

Several hours later Molly was having less fun than she thought. Trying on dresses was exhausting. None of them was the perfect one she wanted Sherlock to see her in when all this was done. It had to be just right. Her eyes picked out a white satin dress lying at the bottom of a pile. Gently she pulled it out and held it against her body.

"This is it. This is the dress," she said softly, fingers caressing the material. It was a beautiful ivory color and the thin straps were black with a matching black rim around the waist. Blue roses and vines were scattered up and down from one side of the dress. It was just the right amount of color. And it was the perfect shade of blue, the one he liked.

"That is lovely. We'll have it altered for you and you may pick it up after your salon appointment."

"Salon?" Molly asked.

An hour later her hair was piled artistically high on the top of her head. Her makeup was light, but perfectly applied to enhance her naturally beauty. She had her dress in a garment bag and was ready to go – wherever that might end up being.


	19. The Eye

As they drove towards Central London the traffic grew thick with congestion. They were approaching the House of Parliament and Molly thought she knew where they were headed. Harris parked in a lot on the South Bank of the River Thames. He ran back to open the door and she stepped gingerly out.

"You can leave your things here for now. I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. "You're a stunner tonight. I reckon he'll get more than he bargained for," Harris said with a laugh.

"I'm not even wearing my dress!" Molly protested.

"You don't have to. You're already glowing. Best of luck, Miss Hooper."

Molly knew she was grinning. She couldn't help it. It had been a wonderful day and it was only going to get better. Everything seemed a bit of a dream and she kept waiting to wake up.

She wandered around the crowded pier, feeling a little lost. And then there was a smooth baritone voice behind her.

"Well played, Molly Hooper," he said.

Molly went to turn around and gentle fingers guided her shoulders back to where they were.

"Have you ever been on the London Eye?" he asked softly in her ear.

"No," she whispered.

"Scared of heights?" he teased. His fingers were brushing her bare neck, making her shiver with delight. She didn't say anything. All she could do was bite her lip and wait to see what he'd say next.

"I've never been either," he said.

"That isn't really a surprise," she laughed. "Or maybe you're bluffing."

"So are you," he returned.

Molly thought about that, or tried to, his breath was at her neck instead of his fingers. He was only breathing but each exhale moved the tendrils that had escape from her updo.

"So you have ridden before?" she asked.

"Let's go up together. That way we know for sure that we both have," he said.

Finally she turned to face him. His eyes looked gently down on her. His hand was fiddling with his hair – one of his tells. He was nervous. Good. So was she.

She took in his slim jeans hugging that wiry frame and the button down purple shirt that clung to his shoulders. He looked amazing. They stepped into a carriage and it swayed and rocked as they moved to sit.

The carriages moved slowly as passengers were let off and boarded. Each turn brought them higher into the air. When the Ferris wheel finally began to move they were already almost to the top. They hung there, chasing the setting sun as it sank below the horizon. The waters bellow reflected the blue light from the Eye and all the colors of the brilliantly lit sky. A cold wind was blowing, penatrating the warmth of her jumper.

"This is beautiful," she said. "London looks so small from up here."

"Does it make you feel bigger?" he asked.

Molly pushed his arm with her hand. "You have been on before!"

Sherlock merely shrugged then wrapped one arm around her shoulder. They hung silently suspended in the cooling air.

"When I was at Uni," Sherlock began softly. "I was engaged to a girl. I know you may find that difficult to believe. All the same it's true."

"What happened?" Molly asked.

"I underestimated her. I took her at face value when I should have seen the signs of betrayal. I didn't want to see her for who she was, so I didn't. When I finally confronted her about her infidelity, she laughed. She was only keen for the wealth. Or more specifically my parent's wealth. After that it wasn't worth the effort. For a long time the Work was all I needed to feel satisfied."

"And then what happened?" she asked quietly.

"Then I met you. You were there for me Molly. You held my life in your hands. It changed everything."

Molly was silent for a moment then she cleared her throat.

"Tom didn't break up with me. I left him. I decided I was deserved more than a relationship that was just comfortable and secure. I couldn't marry someone I wasn't in love with," she finished timidly.

Molly glanced at him from the corner of one eye, worried that she'd said too much. Sherlock was looking out towards the water and Molly looked at her feet the rest of the ride down. Sherlock ushered her towards the waiting cab and something inside her broke a little. He was going to change his mind. She'd spoken honestly and he had fallen back inside his shell.

"Take her home, Harris," he said and her worst fears were realized.

"I'll see you tonight," he whispered, and drew her close to him. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. The contact was ever so brief, but it left her head spinning.

It didn't stop even as Harris let her out at her flat.

"I'll pick you up at nine," he said, tipping his cap to her. "It's been a pleasure."

She held onto the railing tightly as she made her way up to the third floor. Soon she was wearing her ivory ball gown with is perfectly blue roses. She sprayed on a dash of the perfume Lestrade had given her. She spun around the tiny room in front of her floor mirror, trying to get a view of the back. Where could she possibly be going in this dress?


	20. To Dance in Your Arms

At precisely nine o'clock she locked the door of her flat and placed her keys in the ridiculously expensive purse she'd bought on impulse with the credit line from Mycroft. The whole ensemble must have cost a fortune. She hadn't seen the bill. It had all been handled quite discreetly. So she didn't know how much everything was, but she could guess.

Waiting by the car was Sherlock, carefully holding open one door for her. He used his free hand to guide her inside. He wore a simple but well-tailored black suit. On his wiry frame it looked elegant. The blue tie matched her dress perfectly. Her eyes traveled up him and then down again. What a pair they must make this evening.

"Don't tell me we're going to a fruit market dressed like this," she teased. "Finca is the only game left."

"I'm done playing games," Sherlock said.

"Then where are we going?" Molly asked anxiously.

"On our first date," he said.

The drive was made longer by her nervousness. She knew they were in Fulham. She just had no idea why.

"Welcome to St. Andrews Star Center," Sherlock announced with a sweep of his arm.

They left the cab behind as they walked together down a long path. On either side were apple trees with the last of the seasons harvest. Then they were sheltered under a canopy of grapevines.

"Where are the bananas?" Molly asked. She held onto one of his arms with both hands and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"No bananas. This will have to suffice," he replied.

"This is a lot of effort for one date," Molly said softly.

"It was worth it."

Molly licked her lips and shot him a quick glance. His face gave nothing away. He led her into a small room where a group of musicians was playing chamber music. It was absolutely delightful. In a corner of the room was a small round table. Candles were lit in the center and a table cloth pooled down to the floor. There was a bottle of wine already open sitting in a bucket of ice.

Molly knew nothing about wine and yet she knew by her first taste that it was of the highest quality, rich with flavor and substance. Each pour was paired perfectly with a light dish. First there was Riesling for the bruschetta, then a Pinot with an assortment of cheeses. After that it was all a blur of delicious foods. Soon the wine was warming her stomach and she felt herselt relaxing. Their conversation was minimal but the silence was comfotable and neither seemed to mind. The waiter was discreet as he took each plate away and Molly barely noticed his presence.

"I have a surprise for you," Sherlock said as they finished up their meal. Molly hoped there wasn't desert. She was completely full.

"Really? Another one? This entire day has been full of surprises," she replied.

"There are only a few left."

With that he pulled out a case from under the table and carefully lifted out his violin. The musicians were already putting up an extra music stand and they greeted Sherlock with warm smiles as he joined them.

"A little Bach," he told them and they laughed together like it was an inside joke.

She had heard Sherlock play but she had never heard him play like this. He was pouring his very soul into his instrument and it made her want to weep with its sweetness. It ended too soon and then Sherlock was pulling her up out of her chair.

"What are you doing?" she asked, smoothing out her gown.

"Teaching you to dance," he said, placing her hand in his. He guided her free hand to his shoulder and then wrapped his own around her small waist.

"I'm a terrible dancer," she said.

"Good thing I'm an excellent teacher. Just ask John. And here we go. One two step, three four step. You have to hear the music. It's a waltz. It was created for you to dance to it. It serves that sole purpose. Good, feel the beat. And let me lead. You need to relax into my arms until you can feel how I'm moving you."

Molly felt a flush rise across her cheeks. His words made her think of other rhythms made in the shelter of darkness. Soon they were gliding across the empty floor while the music went on and on. She could have danced for hours or maybe it was minutes. Either way the music came to and end and the musicians were packing up. Then they were completely alone.

Molly and Sherlock sat together within the silence of the room. After the sounds of glassware and silverware clinking, and the beautiful background music, that seemed very quiet indeed. Molly sat staring at her hands, somewhat overwhelmed. She also realized she was tired. It had been a long day. It had also been exhausting.

The wine had made her brain slightly fuzzy and she wasn't thinking straight. She knew this wasn't a dream but it could have been. The room was swaying like she was still dancing and her body was demanding she close her eyes and sleep.

Sherlock took her hand and held it in his. He looked contented. It was something she hadn't seen before. Usually he was full of anxious energy or at an emotional lull. This was different. It was almost gentle.

"Let's get you home," he said softly.

Even thought she was exhausted that simple comment made her veins turn to liquid heat. Sherlock at her home, Sherlock kissing her by the door, Sherlock leading her to a bed that was soft and welcoming to them both.

"Let's do that," she managed.

The gentle sounds and bumps from the road below rocked her into a light doze. She nodded off, only waking up when Sherlock carefully shook her shoulder, then let his hand caress it instead. He helped her up the stairs and her hands gripped his arm tightly as the elevator went up to her floor.

They stopped at her door and he had to help her fish her keys from her purse. She stood there a moment before she put the key in the door. Then she turned back to face him.

"I'm very sleepy. That doesn't mean I didn't have a wonderful time," she told him.

"I understand. Good night," he said, turning to go.

"Without a kiss?" she asked shyly.

He stopped in his tracks, turning back around. There was a new light in his eyes. Molly could only describe it as hunger. His arms held her tight and she wrapped hers around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes to meet his lips, kissing him back as he kissed her. His lips felt so soft, so inviting. She could drink from them all day.

Sherlock pulled away and his head hung low.

"We can't keep kissing like this. I'll end up regretting the evening. You've had quite a bit to drink," he explained.

"I don't mind," she replied, surprising herself. _It must be the wine_, she told herself. Maybe her was right.

"I do," he said. "Good night."

Molly hung her dress back up in its bag and put away her beautiful things. She lay down into the softness of her pillow and fell fast asleep. Her dreams were full of the sweetest music and piercing blue eyes.


	21. About Last Night

When she awoke the next day it was almost noon. Her beautifully styled hair was in a state of disarray and her makeup was smeared over her face. It was not her most attractive moment. She washed up and put her hair back in its usual place, a pony tail at the top of her head. Breakfast was light, some beans on toast and a warm cup of tea. Only then did she check her phone.

Saturday 9:30 am

I hope you are having a lie in. -SH

Saturday 10:22 am

Call me when you wake up. -SH

Her heart slammed against her chest. She picked out his name from her contacts with trembling fingers. Who could have thought a year ago that she'd be dating Sherlock Holmes. Was that what they were doing? No one would go through that much trouble for a single date. This didn't feel like dating. She'd done plenty of that in her life. This was more like... courting. Or something very close to it.

"Hello Molly," his baritone voice was a smooth as black velvet.

"Uh, hi," she got out.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Of course. How could I not? That was amazing," she replied.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. She hung onto the phone like a life preserver.

"So what next?" he finally asked.

"I was hoping you were going to tell me," she laughed.

"I meant, what do you want to happen next," he said softly.

"A few more dates maybe? Not as grand as last night. Ordinary things - a trip to the park, go to the cinema," Molly chattered.

"Ordinary things? But you are far from ordinary Molly Hooper. Would a trip to the park excite you?" he asked.

"It might if you were there. It's something to share. I enjoy my walks and you could enjoy them with me."

"Then by all means, let's go to the park," Sherlock said.

"Now?" Molly squeaked.

"You seemed to really enjoy the last time I brought you coffee. I'll bring some again. I'll see you in an hour," he said and hung up.

Molly normally didn't wear much make up or pay attention to the clothes that she wore. Today was different. She wanted to look nice for him. Not as nice as last night, but she wasn't going to the morgue on her day off so she could spend a little time picking out her clothing and getting ready. When she left the house her hair was up in a bun and she'd curled little tendrils that hung at each side of her face. She wore leggings with some comfortable boots and a long tunic. On impulse she grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around her neck.

Saturday 11:33 am

I'm at the fountain. Where are you? -Molls

Saturday 11:48 am

If you're running late send a text. -Molls

Saturday 11:49 pm

Getting coffee, will arrive shortly. -SH

Of course he was late, Molly thought. That was one thing she might have to get used to. He was like a small child dragging their feet to school each morning. Unless someone had died in an unusual and interesting way, Sherlock was in no hurry.

"Long line," he shrugged, hanging her a coffee.

Molly glanced down at his freshly pressed shirt and dark wash jeans. His hair lay in perfect spirals around his head and neck. Two could play at deductions.

"I can tell you how long it took you to get ready this morning," she said, sipping at the perfect cup of coffee. He must have gone to the same place as last time.

"Really?" he asked with the lift on an eyebrow.

"42 minutes," Molly said.

Sherlock started and his casual facade disappeared as he uncrossed his arms.

"You were probably still in your jimjams when I called. You needed to leave yourself 10 minutes for travel and 10 minutes for getting coffee. Your hair took longer than usual to wash and dry because of the amount of product you put in it last night. In fact, you had to wash your hair twice to get it all out."

Sherlock was still speechless. His eyes traveled over her face the looked down at himself.

"That's... that's..." he said.

"Brill? Ta!" Molly smiled into her coffee cup.

Sherlock looked at her suspiciously.

"You called John," he finally said.

"Of course I called John. You weren't here and you didn't answer my text. He said you'd showered twice and would be late," Molly said, giggling.

"That was clever. And funny. I wish Anderson were here. Only that could complete my humiliation," he said.

Molly laughed out loud, head thrown back into the October sun. When she looked at Sherlock again he was also chuckling. He had his hands in his pockets and he looked content in that moment. How often did Sherlock Holmes allow himself to find humor in a single moment, to just let it happen instead of fighting it so hard. He seemed to be fighting his emotions all the time, like he didn't need them. Well he was as human as any man she'd dated.

They stood looking at one another. For a moment the sky seemed a little bluer and the day a little sunnier. Molly knew she would remember this day long after it had passed. There was something special about it. Sherlock must have thought so too. He'd stopped laughing and was studying her eyes, looking puzzled. Molly returned his look and gave a soft gasp just as Sherlock jerked his head back. There were deep emotions reflecting in those blue green irises and they mirrored the ones in hers.

She had known even before last night that she was in love with Sherlock Holmes. But in this moment, here at Regent Park, on an ordinary autumn day, they'd discovered they loved each other. It happened every day to couples across the globe. That didn't matter to Molly. What mattered was that it had happened to them. She didn't give Sherlock the chance to think about it too much. She simply took his arm and they walked down one of the many paths, past people dragging dogs and children. It was a peaceful day and Molly might worry that Sherlock was bored, but she didn't. He was with the woman he loved. Nothing felt more filling than that. She'd let him tell her in his own time.


End file.
